The Love Letter

iStockphoto

I no longer have the best letter I ever received. I let it go earlier this year, because I knew that, even if I threw away the paper itself, I'd never forget the contents.

When it came time for me to choose a college, my choice was simple. Though I visited more than a dozen campuses, the second school I visited was exactly where I wanted to go: Vassar College. I was in love with the library, the lawns, the list of English courses. It also didn't hurt that the school was exactly an hour-and-a-half-long drive from my family in New Jersey. It was just far enough for me to feel like I was truly “away,” and just close enough for me to come home at a moment's notice ... or to flee back to school, as I did one afternoon.

It started out as a routine visit home. As always, I offered to stay with Willie for a time while my parents went out; as usual, they hesitated, but said yes eventually. I assured them that I would be careful, and that I would call them immediately if Willie was having a particularly hard time. Unfortunately, neither of these things prevented what happened next.

I don't remember many details of that afternoon; my memory has blocked them. Or perhaps, having received grace to forgive them, I have also been given grace to forget. In any case, I know that Willie was edgy and upset. I know that I helped him to roll up in the rug, applied calming pressure, and prompted him to take deep breaths. Yet I also know that, as it became clear that he wasn't calming down, I got angry. And scared.

Nowadays, I'm better at keeping calm when Willie is upset—In part thanks to years of practice, and in part because I know that maintaining a peaceful energy is one of the best things I can do to help. But that afternoon, I wasn't prepared.

Willie was rolled up in the rug, and then suddenly, he wasn't. Almost before I knew what was happening, he bit me. He sunk his teeth into my right leg, and I screamed at him. Furious and hurt, I ran upstairs and locked a door behind me. I called my parents to come home, and they did, right away. As soon as I heard the garage door open, I picked up my bags and put them in my car. Though I knew it would upset my parents, I drove—flew—back to Vassar.

Several days later, I received a card in the campus mail. I remember opening it in the busy mailroom area, and then closing it quickly, knowing that if I stopped to read it I would end up crying. I took the card back to my room. Inside, my parents[3]had sent their love, sorrow, and comfort to me … and they had included a letter from Willie as well.

When I saw his handwriting—those distinctive letters, the spots where he'd used White-Out to make everything perfect—I knew I would forgive him. Before I even read his words, I felt the tears pool in my eyes. He had hurt me, but he was still my brother[4]. Somewhere underneath the aggressive behavior, he was still Willie, and I still loved him.

The bruise from the bite took months to heal. Every time I looked at it, I wanted to weep—for all the similar cuts and bruises my parents had incurred, for all the anger and frustration inside Willie that made him strike out. For all the beauty[5] that was hidden behind his terrible behavior.

Nowadays, Willie's doing much better. Each time I see him, I am amazed at how far he's come. And even though my skin tends to scar easily, that fateful bite didn't leave a mark. The letter, however, did.